


Hold Me Tight, Or Don't

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Concerts, Confessions, Cooking, Crushes, Dancing, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pining, Pre-Roadtrip, Punk Ignis, Punk Prompto, Scrappy Prompto, Status Effects, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, whichever you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: It was then that he saw him - the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on, leaning against the bar and laughing openly at something his friend next to him was saying. His hair was spiked up, like many of the other patrons, and he’d somehow squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans ever created, a purple coeurl-print shirt stretched across his broad shoulders like sin.In which Prompto finally meets Noctis' advisor Ignis, but to both of their surprise, they've met before.





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Promnis Week everyone! 
> 
> This is my first time participating in a fanweek and I'm very excited! As a challenge, I decided to try my hand at doing a full fic, writing one chapter per daily prompt. It's also nice to have a fresh project to give me a break from my current ones. I hope you like it <3 Ten points if you know what the band's name is a reference to!
> 
> Day One: First Meeting  
> Enjoy~

The first time Prompto _officially_ meets Ignis, he comes to a startling realization.

He's hanging out with Noctis in his apartment, which is new for them, and playing King's Knight, which is not. Prompto's never had anyone to laze around with and he's under the impression that they’ll be alone the entire weekend, so when the door opens up around lunch time, he’s surprised. Of course, he’s heard all about Ignis – straight-laced, no-nonsense Ignis who cooked Noct’s amazing lunches. The moment he lays eyes on him though, he knows Noctis is dead wrong in his descriptions.

“Specs this is Prom, Prom this is Ignis,” says Noctis from his place slouched on the couch.

Back ramrod straight, Prompto scrambles to stand up. Although Ignis’ hair is soft and flat around his face, he knows those sharp eyes and his heart stutters in his chest. He tries to discreetly wipe his hands on his pants, wishing he’d taken more care in getting ready, maybe done his hair a little. If the way Ignis’ eyes widen slightly indicates anything, he remembers him too.

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” he stammers out, holding his hand awkwardly out for a shake. There’s a faint smile tucked in the corner of Ignis’ mouth as he takes it, warm palm gentle as it covers Prompto’s. He’s not wearing gloves today.

“Likewise.”

–

The first time they truly met, the lights were dim.

Prompto doesn’t make it a habit to be in the underbelly of Insomnia’s arts district often. It’s about three trains away from where he lives and the commute is unbearably long on the way back at 1 a.m., but it’s _Black Sheep_ and it’s their first show after a year off tour so there’s no way he was going to miss it. The ticket was somewhat of an advanced reward too – the school year was starting the week after, and this time he would finally approach Noctis to make good on his promise.

In the bar a background playlist pulsed from the speakers as people moved about onstage, going through the motions of breaking down equipment to clear the way for the next band’s setup. Cigarette smoke hung low over the crowd and Prompto pushed his way out for a quick break, sweat sliding down the back of his neck as he sucked in greedy breaths of fresh air. He ran a hand through his tacky hair and leaned against a nearby wall, shoulders flat against the support with his hips pushed out as he looked over the crowd for anyone interesting. His fingers itched for the camera he’d left at home, but it was too risky of an object to bring to a show like this.

It was then that he saw him - the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on, leaning against the bar and laughing openly at something his friend next to him was saying. His hair was spiked up, like many of the other patrons, and he’d somehow squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans ever created, a purple coeurl-print shirt stretched across his broad shoulders like sin.

Unfortunately, Prompto’s not old enough to officially drink yet – which was a terrible travesty, because he desperately wanted nothing more than to buy one for him. He rubbed absently at the dark X’s on his hands and watched as the man’s friend smacked him on the arm and pointed in his direction. When their eyes met, he melted against the wall under the beautiful stranger's gaze, cheeks flushing bright red as he ducked back into the crowd, embarrassed for his staring.

Feedback squealed out of the speakers when the band started up, music thrumming as the fans cheered and pushed forward. It was gritty – raw and desperate in a way that was soothing and liberating all wrapped in one. The audience got into it right away, swaying from side to side before devolving into a bunch of limbs pushing in every direction. Prompto tried to keep his footing in the mass of people, but stumbled over someone’s leg and cursed his body for not growing any taller over the summer. He’s been to this type of show before, but it's always a fresh challenge and this time was no different. Someone spilt their beer down the back of his shirt and he flinched away, nearly going down hard under all the legs, but a firm hand on his arm steadied him.

It was _him,_ and the loud music covered Prompto's gasp. The cut of the man’s jaw was impossibly sharp up close and Prompto's gaze got stuck on his throat where the chain of a necklace peeking out from under his collar glinted in the flashing lights. His eyes were a soft green and Prompto is ashamed to say he may have gone a bit boneless, the crowd pushing him right up against the stranger, and almost died then and there.

The beautiful man ducked his head to speak close into Prompto’s ear over the music. “Alright?” he asked, and the soothing rise and fall of his accent around the vowels sent shivers down Prompto’s spine. When he nodded, the guy smiled – a full one this time, like he had at the bar – and Prompto almost fell to the sticky floor again. He didn’t though, because the stranger steadied him once more. “May I?”

At first Prompto was confused, but then the man placed his hands on his hips as explanation, elbows drawn up to ward off the enthusiastic crowd. They were gloved, smooth leather brushing against the skin where his shirt had slipped up, and hesitant – waiting for his answer. Prompto grinned, placed his own hands over the top of them, and leaned back against the man’s solid frame as they swayed to the beat.

They followed the flow of the crowd, allowing it to carry them along, but whenever another elbow threatened to dig into his face, the beautiful man behind him knocked it away with a calculated move. They ended up right against the grated barrier and it was calmer there, the rock of the people pressed behind them as Prompto stared up in awe at the lead singer glistening under the bright lights, the next song kicking up in a flurry. The gorgeous stranger behind him was humming, voice singing along lowly to the words and Prompto swooned at the decadent tone in his ear. He leaned further into the warm figure behind him and in return the man pressed closer, hand coming up to wrap around his waist gently. They stayed that way for the rest of the show.

As it drew to an end, the band members tossed a few things off the stage, as per tradition, and Prompto jolted when an agile hand shot up next to his head to snatch a guitar pick out of midair. When he whirled around, the man smiled again, a quieter one, and held out his fist. Blinking, Prompto held his hand underneath it and the pick was pressed into his palm. 

“For you,” the man said over the final goodbyes of the band and leaned in, quick as a blink, to press a lingering kiss to Prompto’s cheek.

The crowd had swallowed him by the time Prompto looked up, fingers still pressed in shock to his burning cheek, and beneath the pick was a slip of paper – ten digits inked in an elegant curl.

–

The paper burns a hole in Prompto’s pocket now as he shakes Ignis’ hand and blushes, thinking of the pick tucked safely under his pillow. He never called – all the confidence of that night drained away by the time the sun rose the next morning. But here he is, the beautiful stranger from the show standing before him with a cocked hip and searching eyes.

_Shit_ , Prompto thinks. He’s fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! If you liked it at all, please let me know with a comment <3 two words will make my night!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	2. Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Noctis levels him with a blank look. “C’mon Specs, I’m not blind.”_
> 
> _“No, I don’t suppose you are,” says Ignis with a sigh. “There is no problem. I’m handling it.” It’s the truth, if by ‘handling it’ he means ‘steadfastly ignoring it’._
> 
> In which Ignis is the master of dealing with everything but his own emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... was not expecting the great reception the first chapter got! I'm so excited you all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! Big shoutout to the guy who elbowed me in the throat at a Bayside concert and the girl who sloshed beer on me at All Time Low, they were great inspiration ahaha. Also two of you guessed the band name reference in the first chapter correctly! It was indeed from Scott Pilgrim vs The World, great job <3 And so, without further ado:
> 
> Day Two: Pining
> 
> Enjoy~

It’s not as if Ignis doesn’t know who Prompto is. 

He did his research of course – not just anyone would do in the prince’s company - but the boy’s background check was blissfully clear, aside from a minor charge for vandalism three years ago. And it isn’t as though Noctis never mentioned his new friend. On the contrary, Prompto is often the center of his regaled stories from the day and he occupies much of Noct’s free time outside of his schooling and citadel duties. But Ignis didn’t pay much attention to the pictures or listed interests in his files or even to the figure who sometimes accompanies Noctis to the front gates of the school. As long as Noctis is safe and happy, Ignis is satisfied – and that was his downfall.

He didn’t account for when at long last he came face to face with the infamous Prompto, he’d be thrown back to the one night he could scarcely forget. So now here he is, standing stock still in Noct’s apartment with the bite of rejection burning fresh in his veins. 

Prompto’s different in the light of day - less confident in the way he moves though he’s no less captivating. Ignis understands the change well enough himself – the stark contrast on those nights he dresses up and slips out of the role he’d been brought up to fill, settling more comfortably into his own skin. Not that his duties to Noct are anything less than true to who he is, it merely does him well to take time to live his own desires once in a while. Sometimes it's hard to justify taking time to do so, but he makes an effort for it every now and then. Plus it was _Black Sheep_ playing – he couldn’t miss that.

The memory of the iridescent boy veiled in the smoke of the bar flashes behind his eyelids and fades into Prompto standing before him, extending his hand. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” he stammers and Ignis’ heart plummets. 

Oh dear.

It seems as though this time he’s botched this up entirely. It’s Prompto – and _of course_ it’s Prompto, nothing is ever easy, is it – and he’s here in Noctis’ apartment after a month of not calling the number Ignis had slipped him and offering up his hand as if they’d never met; as if he hadn’t seen the most vulnerable side Ignis had to offer.

Obviously he isn’t interested.

Discreetly, Ignis picks up all the scattered pieces of himself and pastes a casual smile on in their place. He has to keep it together for Noctis. He comes above all else, and this is his first friend – Ignis would sooner scrap all his free nights set aside for the music bars than take away the prince’s only normal companionship. No, instead he’ll keep his feelings sequestered away until they’ve faded. It will be easy enough to go along with the charade Prompto has already started and hopefully his heart will lose interest as he gets to know Prompto better. He wonders if perhaps that were true, he’d have done it already, but quickly casts the thought aside. He has to, for his own sanity – and for Noctis.

“Likewise,” he says, taking Prompto’s hand. It’s warm, and Ignis' chest grows tight at the memories – Prompto’s hands over his, leaning into Ignis curled along his back; pressing the guitar pick to his palm as he quickly stole a kiss before he lost his nerve.

Exhaling shakily, Ignis realizes he’s been holding on for far too long and snatches his hand back. He clears his throat and turns to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

It proves more difficult than he thought to stuff his feelings down the more Ignis grows to know him. Prompto is darling – thoughtful with Noctis on his bad days and humorous when he senses a stronger need for distraction. It takes all of Ignis’ strength not to laugh when he busts out his best puns in an attempt to get Noctis to smile. He’s never met anyone so endearingly kind-hearted before and it’s alarming how quickly Prompto works his way under Ignis’ skin.

Still, he keeps his distance. It’s fairly simple strategically, all things considered. Prompto has a part-time job occupying most of his evenings, so it’s mainly the weekends Ignis has to account for. It’s easy to avoid any bend towards unsavory conversations with Noctis there as a buffer, but try as he may, Ignis can’t always keep his eyes to himself. Sometimes they’ll trace over the slip of skin that flashes from under Prompto’s shirt as he wrestles the controller away from Noctis on the couch before he can stop them. It’s a challenge to not to imagine how his own hand had looked resting there; caressing the smooth skin as they swayed in the crowd, pressed close with no space between them.

It only takes a few weeks for Noctis to notice something’s off. It’s not that he doesn’t care, more that his plate is full enough with his own issues – which means Ignis has doing an _extremely_ poor job of maintaining his composure if he’s the one to call him out on it.

“So what exactly is your problem with Prompto,” he asks one day, completely out of the blue, and Ignis almost flops the fish fillet he’s about to fry onto the counter.

“Sorry?” he asks, aiming his tone for disinterested but landing somewhere between flustered and defensive.

Noctis levels him with a blank look. “C’mon Specs, I’m not blind.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” says Ignis with a sigh, “There is no problem. I’m handling it.” It’s the truth, if by ‘handling it’ he means ‘steadfastly ignoring it’.

It’s clear his poor deflection doesn’t work when Noctis leans back in his chair with crosses his arms. “Cut the bullshit Ignis. What, is he not good enough to be around me anymore?”

“Of course not,” Ignis snaps and tries instead to focus hard on how the fish slowly darkens in the oil. He breathes in deep and calms down enough to admit, “Quite the opposite in fact, he’s a good influence for you.”

“So then what’s with the cold shoulder?” asks Noctis, eyebrows scrunched. “He thinks you hate him, you know.”

Oh.

The fish is done – a little overcooked, but Noctis won’t be able to tell the difference so Ignis flips off the burner and moves the pan to the stove to cool down. He sighs and puts his hands on the counter, shoulders hunched. “I’ll… talk to him.”

“Okay,” says Noctis, but it sounds skeptical.

Ignis is dreading it, but it must be done. He was a fool to think otherwise. It’s not as if he hasn’t already accepted the inevitable sting of rejection, but he’d rather be spared the process of handing over his feelings to Prompto only to watch them shattered all over again. But he’ll do it, for Noct’s sake. This problem isn’t going to go away on its own; he’s going to have to face it head on.

A very small, immature part of him hopes the opportunity will never arise so he can go back to nursing his wounded ego in private, but the next night Noctis invites Prompto over for some gaming. Already Ignis knows it’s a setup in part but he goes through the motions, makes a quick dinner for them before setting about tidying up a bit. 

Eventually they wear out and Prompto falls into his usual routine of yawning and excuses. “Welp, better head home to get some sleep before my shift tomorrow,” he says and Noctis grins broadly over at Ignis.

“Specs’ll drive you, won’t you Ignis?” he says, so blatant in tone that Prompto freezes in place, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Ignis agrees and quietly finishes wiping the counters before moving to gather his things.

Across the room, Prompto does the same with jilted motions that do nothing to quell the rising panic in Ignis’ chest. Noctis walks them to the door and leans against the doorjamb as they both pause to slip their shoes on before goodbyes are exchanged. The silence after the door shuts them out into the hall is strained. The elevator is just as stifling, if not more, and Prompto’s incredibly tense, hands fidgeting relentlessly as they wait for the doors to open again. It’s only once they’re in the car he speaks at all, quietly giving Ignis instructions to his house.

Halfway there, Ignis finds his resolve. “Prompto-“

“No, I get it,” says Prompto, cutting him off. “You don’t – you don’t have to tell me what I already know.”

“What,” says Ignis flatly as his mind races ahead, tripping over itself. 

So he knows. That’s… good, right? It means he doesn’t have to go through the painful process of laying his feelings bare with the full knowledge they’ll be crushed again.

“The night at the concert… it’s why you’ve been avoiding me right? I promise I won’t tell Noct, I’m not that kind of person,” he says and hunches down. They’ve arrived, and Ignis rushes to pull up alongside the curb before the modest home so he can snag Prompto’s elbow as he makes to escape out the door.

“Prompto,” he says lowly. He doesn’t move so Ignis continues, “Do you truly think I hate you?”

Blinking slowly, Prompto asks, “Don’t you?” 

Ignis feels his heart crack. “Of course I don’t,” he rushes to say, letting go of him to run a hand through his hair. Was Prompto's opinion of him so low that he believed he'd hate him merely because he didn’t return Ignis’ affections? He’d never reduce him in such a way, but Noctis was right, his recent actions haven’t exactly indicated otherwise. “I’d like it if we could still be friends.”

“Really?” Prompto asks, eyebrows shooting straight up and this time Ignis doesn’t hold back his amused laugh at how endearing the expression is on him.

“If you’ll have me,” he says. This infatuation isn’t fading, he knows this now, but as long as Prompto is comfortable with it, he’ll take what he can get. He’d rather have him close and untouchable than to revert to the cold distance between them from before.

Prompto’s smile falls lopsided when he looks over, but his blue eyes are shinning brightly. “Friends then.”

“Friends,” agrees Ignis and he ignores the pain he feels as his heart gets out of the car and slips inside the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ these idiots, amiright? please feel free to vent your frustrations down below! or let me know if you liked it <3 everyone who commented on the first chapter seriously made my entire day when I woke up, thank you guys!


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They’re lost in the in-between hours of the mornings – where the dark of the night isn’t so malleable, but the stark rays of daylight have yet to harsh the soft corners of where they sit. So Prompto allows himself to be selfish for once and tucks his face into the warm hollow of Ignis’ neck to cry it out. He’s been so good; been so careful not to cross the line they’d drawn in the sand between them, but it’s too hard right now to resist sweet Ignis, who murmurs soft reassurances as he holds him._
> 
> In which Prompto and Ignis begin to break down each others' walls in the space where day and night meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever not update for this fanweek so late at night? Stay tuned to find out! So far the answer is no, lmfao. I honestly was really looking forward to this day's prompt, like hurt/comfort is my JAM, sign me the fuck up. That being said, this chapter is full of just that! As well as an astonishing amount of tooth-rotting fluff. I had a lot of fun writing this one so I hope you like it!
> 
> Day Three: Ignis comforting Prompto from reoccurring nightmares
> 
> Enjoy~

It’s pitch black when Prompto comes to, shooting up in bed with his harsh pants filling the quiet room. His hands tear at his chest, checking that everything’s in order before forcing in a deep pull of air and counting the seconds in his head, trying to calm down. Slowly his eyes adjust to the dark and he realizes he’s in Noct’s room, the prince still soundly asleep next to him. Of course he is. At this point Prompto thinks it would take nothing less than an earthquake to wake him this early in the morning. Normally he’d roll back over, press in close to Noctis for the comfort of another body, and try to get a few more unsteady hours of sleep before rousing, but this time he’s too awake to try.

Outside the sky has taken on the barely-there blue of a sky beginning to come alive for the day as Prompto eases out from under the covers. He pulls one of the blankets loosely around his shoulders and ventures out into the hall, intending to curl up on the couch to wait, but to his surprise the lights in the apartment are on. Weird. Hadn’t they turned those off last night? Wary, he pads towards the kitchen and he wrinkles his nose in thought. 

“Ignis?” he calls out cautiously as he turns the corner. He tries not to focus on Ignis’ broad shoulders where he leans over the counter in one of the barstools, focused on a pile of files. He starts when Prompto speaks, scattering a few papers. “What are you doing here so early?”

Over Ignis’ shoulder the stove clock is lit in soft green numbers and Prompto winces at the reminder of how little sleep he’s gotten. Because it was Friday and he had the next day off work, he and Noctis had had no problem staying up late to goof off and knock out half the storyline arc of the newest Last Legend game that had come out the weekend before. He doesn’t regret it in the slightest, but he does curse his dumb brain for waking himthe one day he actually wanted to sleep in.

“Couldn’t sleep,” says Ignis with a sigh. “I figured perhaps I’d do my work over here instead and cook breakfast for us all when you and Noct decided to get up.”

“Oh,” says Prompto, and shuffles his feet awkwardly. They haven’t been alone again since the car ride all those weeks ago. He’s glad Ignis had let him down gently. It hurt, but it was easier to nurse his wounds without dredging up his feelings only to be rejected again. It was pretty clear Ignis wasn’t interested and Prompto was happy to have gotten away with at least a friendship.

Sometimes he wishes he’d called the number, now tucked up under his pillow with the guitar pick, at least to have seen if it would've turned out any differently. Ignis obviously thought it had been a lapse of judgment on his part when he realized that Noct’s silly friend was him. Prompto didn’t blame him; he didn’t have much to offer, not like _he_ did. It was almost worse getting to know Ignis from a distance and not be able to do anything about it – to get to see how generous and kind he is with Noctis, how hard he works at his job, but to also know how he is when he lets loose, alluring and smooth under the dim lights of the bar as the music thrummed through their bodies pressed close together.

It’s then he realizes how dressed down Ignis is, in soft, grey sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and Prompto has to fight the blush working its way up the back of his neck. He’s never seen him this casual before now, softened in the early hours before the sunrise. The tightness around Ignis’ eyes speak of his lost sleep and Prompto wishes he could help; wishes he knew how to make the stack of reports on the counter shrink. 

It’s hard seeing him like this, so open and vulnerable, and being unable to reach out and comfort him. But it’s what he wants right? And Prompto would hate to disrespect his boundaries. The memories of the night they shared together in the bar will have to remain as just that; memories.

“And you?” asks Ignis, bringing Prompto back to the present from his daydream of Ignis reaching out to pull him closer by the hips.

“Huh?” he asks eloquently, resisting the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall.

There’s an amused quirk at the corner of Ignis’ mouth. “Why are you up so early today?” he clarifies. Oh… right. Overcome with the same powerless feeling stretched tight across his lungs, Prompto curls in on himself to stave it off. Ignis stands, hesitating before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulders. “What’s wrong? Not feeling well?”

Prompto shakes his head. “Just… nightmares,” he says quietly. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, but right now he’s too tired to worry about Ignis judging him. Instead he presses into the gentle hand on his back and allows Ignis to guide him to the couch to sit. 

“Would it help to talk about it?” Ignis asks once they're settled. He hasn’t moved his hand yet.

Prompto shakes his head. “I don’t… I don’t ever remember them.”

“This happens often?” asks Ignis quietly. The apartment is silent; a bubble of comfort high above the busy rush of the city down below.

“Yeah, they happen a lot. I remember feeling like, like I can’t move? Like something terrible is happening and I can’t do a damn thing about it,” he says, and blushes at the way his voice breaks halfway through. “I _hate_ feeling so helpless.” 

To his horror he realizes he’s crying and quickly shuts his damp eyes tightly, trying to ignore the empty panic settling in his chest. Ignis pulls him in, a leg tucked up on the couch as he wraps an arm around his shoulders and brings the other up to run through Prompto’s hair. The tender touches only makes him cry _more_ , heaving deep, shuddering breaths in-between the quiet sobs shaking through him and into Ignis. 

They’re lost in the in-between hours of the mornings – where the dark of the night isn’t so malleable, but the stark rays of daylight have yet to harsh the soft corners of where they sit. So Prompto allows himself to be selfish for once and tucks his face into the warm hollow of Ignis' neck to cry it out. He’s been so good; been so careful not to cross the line they’d drawn in the sand between them, but it’s too hard right now to resist sweet Ignis, who murmurs soft reassurances as he holds him. 

The tears slow down into the occasional hiccup, but Ignis doesn’t stop rubbing his hand soothingly along the length of Prompto’s back until he pulls away. There’s a humiliating sound as their tacky skin pulls apart from where his tears dried and he rubs at his itchy eyes – _fuck_ , his contacts – sniffling as he says, “Sorry Iggy.”

“No need to apologize,” he says softly, running his hand down Prompto’s back again. He sags under it, curling forward. “Nightmares happen to us all at some point or another. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Prompto hums disbelievingly and tries to change the topic. “What about you?” he asks, pushing his hair back and trying to look at least a little more composed. It’s no wonder Ignis decided he wasn’t actually interested in him, he’s a _mess_.

“Pardon?” says Ignis.

“Did you have nightmares too? Is that why you’re here?” asks Prompto and wishes he hadn’t when Ignis’ hand stills its rhythmic movement.

His hand resumes its ministrations, as if it’d never halted. “Not exactly. Occasionally I find it difficult to rest in my own apartment. It’s easier here, when I know there's someone in another room.” 

The thought of Ignis sitting alone in his quiet apartment at three a.m. unable to sleep makes Prompto ache inside, but he tries to rein in his reactions and enjoy the shared moment. This is the closest they’ve been since the night they met and he’d almost forgotten how solid the lean lines of Ignis’ body felt against him. It’s quiet; their tentative camaraderie strengthened by the kinds of confessions that only slip out in the small hours of the mornings where reality is blurred.

The room is lighter when Ignis stirs again, but when Prompto makes a displeased noise, he freezes. “I was going to go make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

Prompto nods, regretfully pulling away to let Ignis stand and makes his way to the kitchen. Still sniffling, Prompto leaves his blanket behind to go rinse his splotchy face in the bathroom and blow his nose. He also takes a minute to pry his contacts out, relieved when they pop free. Then he swings by Noctis’ room for his glasses before returning to curl up again on the couch.

Outside the sky is blushing a faint pink against the clouds and Prompto feels the drag of his sleepless night settling hollow in his bones. He watches the dawn peel back the colors of the sky one by one; too drained by his crying to fully register how mortified he’ll be later. It isn’t long before Ignis joins him, holding two steaming mugs and shuffling under Prompto’s legs. Prompto accepts his mug readily and inhales – chamomile, he realizes, his favorite. It’s too hot to drink right away, so he merely holds it close, greedily hoarding the warmth of the tea seeping into his hands. 

Ignis is watching him curiosly. “I wasn’t aware you wore glasses,” he says, looking abashed.

“I don’t like wearing them. I hate how they feel on my face,” says Prompto, reaching up to adjust the heavy frames with a pout. He hesitates over his next words but breaks out a shy smile and knocks Ignis gently with his knees. “Besides, how could I possibly compete with how good you look in yours?” he teases. Pride burns hotly in his chest at the flustered expression it earns him and he laughs gleefully, Ignis smiling sheepishly before joining in.

Their conversation peters off as they steadily drain their mugs and Prompto isn’t sure if the warm feeling in his chest stoked by the way Ignis is smiling him or the tea, but it leaves his mind fuzzy and calm. The sun is peeking over the tops of the high rises when sleep pulls at the edge of his consciousness and he happily falls into its arms. Their mugs are long abandoned by the time Noctis finds them, tangled together and sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter makes up a bit for the frustrating end of the last one! Let me know down below if you liked it <3 The response to this fic has seriously knocked my socks off, so big thank you to everyone kudoing and commenting!


	4. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He goes for the first slice but Ignis reaches out once again, gently adjusting his grip to lay his index finger along the top where the metal and handle meet. “Like this, it stabilizes your control over the blade so we won’t end up with any unfortunate mishaps.”_
> 
> _“Alright,” says Prompto, fiercely determined._
> 
>  _Ignis realizes he’s still holding his hand and jolts back abruptly, but fortunately Prompto's either too focused on the task at hand or uncaring of the touch to notice._  
> 
> In which Ignis and Prompto find their rhythm in the kitchen and Gladio shows up to give Ignis shit for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look everyone I'm early-ish tonight~ and also I come bearing a gift! This is the longest chapter thus far, somehow?? and our dear friend Gladio is finally making his appearance! Also someone caught me out, the title of this fic is definitely from Fall Out Boy's new album. It's hella good and I think that song in particular is fitting for this story! And kudos to anyone who noticed my silly Last Legend allusion to Final Fantasy ahaha. Anyways, I hope you love this chapter as much as I do <33
> 
> Day Four: Ignis teaches Prompto how to cook
> 
> Enjoy~

“So, whatchya makin’ tonight, Iggy?” asks Prompto from where he’s leaning against the counter, chin propped up in his hand and hip jutted to the side. His fingernails are painted black today, a bit messy and undoubtedly the result of Noctis lending him a hand. 

It’s become easier for Ignis to ignore his thoughts about just how _good_ he looks; easier to glide right by them with only a minor scolding if they get too out of hand. By now they’re simply background noise in his daily mental monologue. 

He’s had a lot of practice now that they’ve grown closer, which was unavoidable since they'd become privy to each other’s secrets. Ignis is still a bit embarrassed for how brazen he’d been, but it wasn’t as if he could simply _ignore_ Prompto as he broke down into tears, each sob a dagger in his own chest. As it is, there’s no regret found in him for it at all. Waking up had been decidedly less pleasant – blinking up at the ceiling to find Noctis towering over them with crossed arms and a big smirk on his face. He'd peeled away from Prompto's sleep-heavy tangle of limbs as carefully as possible and with as much dignity he could muster; shooting Noctis a glare as he tucked the blanket back in around the other. “Not a word,” he said with a glare.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Noctis smugly as he trailed him into the kitchen.

After that it's less painful around Prompto, who resumes his upbeat conversation and teasing with renewed vigor. Sometimes Ignis dares to wonder if he's flirting, but is always quick to shoot down the thought down as soon as it takes root. His infatuation barely gets in the way of his duties anymore, which had been a pressing concern for him right out the gate. It wouldn’t do to let such a silly crush get in the way of Ignis’ devotion to Noctis, which he supposes is yet another reason why it would never have worked out between them – Prompto would have to be alright with the fact he could never truly come first and Ignis would never be so selfish as to assume he would. He wishes his heart would give up already.

“I figured we’d go with a rice bowl tonight, does that sound agreeable?” asks Ignis with a small smile. He already knows the answer of course – all of Prompto’s preferences slowly filed away in his mind; right alongside Noctis and Gladio’s as if they’ve always belonged there. It's a nice compromise to go with, as both Prompto and Noct enjoy different styles of his rice dishes and he’s been working on one which will cater to both of their tastes.

Predictably Prompto lights up at the notion, bouncing up on his toes excitedly. “Oh! Could I help?”

“I don’t suppose why not,” says Ignis, already pulling out a cutting board and a few ingredients from the fridge. Prompto’s become quite the helping hand, always jumping to his aide, offering to wash dishes or help with runs to the store. It’s endearing, how seriously he takes his friendships – never one to go halfway.

As Prompto rounds the counter and makes to wash his hands, Ignis reaches over to flick on the radio, which is still set to his favorite station from last time he was here. Music fills the air between them and he keeps it turned low so as not to disturb Noctis who’s taking a nap in the other room. 

It’s one of his worse days again; the ones where he grows quiet and sullen after a long meeting with the counsel and his father. It’s painful to see him burdened with the weight of a crown he has yet to inherit, but Ignis is glad he at least has a few people close to him to help with the weight. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Prompto’s a good influence on him – it’s comforting to know he understands how Noctis gets and that he’s here to weather through it with him; offer him the illusion of an easier life.

“Here,” he says, pulling a slab of daggerquill meat from its packaging. “Be sure to cut the strips thin so they’ll cook thoroughly.” 

Nodding, Prompto takes the knife and goes for the first slice before Ignis reaches out again to gently adjust his grip, index finger along the top where the metal and handle meet. “Like this, it stabilizes your control over the blade so we won’t end up with any unfortunate mishaps.” 

“Alright,” says Prompto, fiercely determined.

Ignis realizes he’s still holding his hand and jolts back abruptly, but fortunately Prompto's either too focused on the task at hand or uncaring of the touch to notice. He’s a quick learner, easily adapting to Ignis’ instructions and settling into his work with dedicated concentration. Oddly proud, Ignis starts the water on the stove for the rice before prepping another pan to cook the meat when it's ready.

When the water boils, Ignis pours in the rice to cook before sliding Prompto’s precise cuts into the other hot skillet to brown. He gestures to the vegetables sitting out. “Make sure to cut them small enough to make them harder to pick out.” 

It startles a laugh out of Prompto as he moves to follow the directions. They settle into a quiet rhythm – the knife steadily hitting the cutting board as Ignis adds the seasoning to the meat and stirs the rice so it won’t stick to the pot. He relaxes, at home in his element, and finds that having an extra set of hands is extremely helpful. Between the two of them, things move along smoothly as the song on the radio croons something heartfelt about missed connections.

“Here, Iggy,” says Prompto and passes the board over for him, their fingers brushing together. 

Startled, Ignis almost drops it, but manages to recover quickly as his mind lectures him about how losing focus while cooking leads to accidents. Oblivious to it all, Prompto hops up on the counter to watch Ignis add the vegetables to the saucepan. Normally he'd scold anyone for such an unsanitary action, but can't find it in him to reprimand the endearing way he swings his legs.

The song on the radio fades out and is swiftly followed by the opening riff ingrained deep in Ignis’ veins, familiar notes ringing out around them. Prompto joins in, humming along softly and Ignis freezes. It’s one of the songs from that night – one they had swayed to together, Ignis with his arms wrapped around Prompto as he sang the words lowly into his ear. He hesitates, debating, but decides to join in, singing softly under his breath. He knows Prompto notices. It feels like a risky step – a desperate grasp for something they’d shared so intimately. A tight pressure has weaseled its way into Ignis’ chest and it tightens when he realizes Prompto's watching him closely. 

“Prompto…” Their eyes meet, as though they never left the pit, the guitar solo washing over them as they stare. 

It’s different now; so much has changed and Ignis realizes how much is _better_ between them for it. The thought makes him brave - anticipation flooding his veins same as it had the night he’d risked diving headfirst into the crowd after the blonde boy making eyes at him across the room. The song comes to an end and it goes quiet while the DJ switches tracks, save for the bubbling water. Prompto blinks as he licks his lips and all Ignis can think about is how pink and inviting they are. He watches them part, about to say something – 

The door to the apartment opens and they jump, Ignis turning back to move the rice off the burner as Prompto picks up swinging his feet once more. 

“Something heavenly is happening in here,” says a deep voice. “Ignis, must be you ‘cause I know Noct would never make something smell that good.” There’s a laugh from the entryway and Ignis rolls his eyes. Gladio’s decided to drop by then - probably concerned after Ignis’ text about Noct’s sour mood. He’s lucky Ignis had the foresight to make enough for leftovers, though between the four of them he’s sure there will hardly any left.

Footsteps echo down the hall and Ignis sees him round the corner, long haired pulled up into a ponytail. His mouth is open, prepared for another quip no doubt, but he stops short at the sight of Prompto still perched on the counter and looking wide-eyed as he takes in the imposing figure who's joined them. Well, fuck. It had slipped Ignis’ mind that they still had yet to meet properly and his heart rate kicks up a notch at the gleeful grin stretching across Gladio’s face. He subtly shakes his head in warning but Gladio only grins wider.

“So _this_ is the one you tried to pick up at the club and wouldn’t shut up about for weeks,” he says and Ignis sighs, rubbing at his forehead as he tries to restrain the strong urge he has to cross the room and slap him. Prompto squeaks, blushing hard at the comment, but before any of them can get a word in edgewise, the door across the hall opens.

“Who’s being so loud,” says Noctis, rubbing at his eyes. He grumbles as Gladio pulls him in for a hug, but folds quickly under the attention, ducking his head as Gladio rubs along his spine to places where Ignis knows the pressure builds most when he’s stressed.

Relieved at the distraction and determined to go on as if nothing had happened, Ignis mixes the rice and spiced meat together in a large serving bowl. “Dinner everyone,” he says and listens to Gladio teasing Noctis as he guides him to the table. 

Prompto hops off the counter and bounces awkwardly on his toes. “Do you need help like, setting the table?”

“If you’d be so kind,” says Ignis, and pulls four plates from the cabinets while Prompto rummages through the silverware drawer. When he passes them over, their fingers brush yet again and Ignis fights the blush burning at the tips of his ears. Across the room Gladio smirks and Ignis ducks his head, resigning to a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! <33 Tell me your favorite part down below?


	5. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now with a whole weekend in sight planned to spend camping out at the finest haven on Insomnia’s northeastern archipelago, cramming all those numbers and words seems less pointless. Prompto’s never been that far from the metal jungle gym of the city streets and the idea having room to stretch and see the stars and_ breathe _sounds like absolute heaven._
> 
> _Or well, it did. But that was back when he’d been planning to use this trip to finally talk to Ignis. And now, well – it looks like Prompto won’t be talking to anyone anytime soon._
> 
> In which Prompto succumbs to an unexpected side effect of camping and he and Ignis have a few more late night confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoopsie spoke too soon - this one's a little late but I hope you all like it! I was stoked for the status effect prompt and honestly I'd love to explore this concept a bit more thoroughly in the future, but, we'll see. For now I hope you enjoy this! I wonder how many times I'm going to have to type the words 'this chapter takes the cake for the longest one yet' ahaha.
> 
> Day Five: Status Ailment
> 
> Enjoy~

Gladio’s the one to suggest the camping trip. He’s around a lot more after dinner and Prompto’s pleased with how seamlessly he meshes into the group, though if anyone was late to join the party, it was him. Despite their abrupt introduction, Prompto warms up to him quickly – drawn in by his casual affection and the way their banter bounces easily off each other. Gladio still levels knowing eyes his way every so often, but he doesn’t make any more comments referring to his and Ignis’ tryst all those months ago, which is a relief. It was embarrassing enough the first time.

Unfortunately, Prompto barely has time to think about any of it at all with the long-dreaded approach of finals. He and Noctis spend most of their waking hours switching between grilling each other over various textbooks and vigorously ignoring how much is left to study with video games. Alone time is a rarity and alone time with Ignis almost nonexistent, what with Noctis always there as a buffer – and now Gladio too.

Something changed between them that day in the kitchen. He’s not crazy; he knows it’s different between them now, a tension in the air palpable. He swears Ignis had been about to kiss him. Part of him is scared to even entertain a flicker hope, but Prompto likes to think of himself as nothing if not a perpetual optimist, and the way Ignis meets his gaze from across the room head-on instead of slanting his eyes away like normal makes him want to believe. And then there was Gladio’s comment… 

Well, like he said, he knows they need to talk and _soon,_ but preferably after he finished dying over his english book. So when Gladio suggests a reward for all their hard efforts, magically studying becomes less endless and devastating. Now with a whole weekend in sight planned to spend camping out at the finest haven on Insomnia’s northeastern archipelago, cramming all those numbers and words seems less pointless. Prompto’s never been that far from the metal jungle gym of the city streets and the idea of having room to stretch and see the stars and _breathe_ sounds like absolute heaven.

Or well, it did. But that was back when he’d been planning to use this trip to finally talk to Ignis. And now, well – it looks like Prompto won’t be talking to anyone anytime soon.

“Could you tell us what it looked like?” asks Ignis, frowning deeply at Prompto who’s standing with his arms crossed as he hunches down. He sends Ignis a long-suffering glare, hard enough to make him dip his head sheepishly. “Ah, right – apologies.”

“It was a patch of like, weird plants with blocky leaves? They had purple spots, too, I think,” says Noctis, answering for him. “Prom walked right into it by accident and this like, cloud of dust went up?”

Sighing, Prompto rubs at his face in annoyance. Gladio flipping quickly through a thick manual that he and Noctis had teased him for bringing along earlier in the car, but apparently he’d had the right idea. The heat of Ignis still considering him boils the humiliation simmering low in his gut for fucking up their trip already – and on the first day too. It must be a new record somewhere Prompto thinks as he coughs, the action barely stirring up a noise.

“Was this it?” asks Gladio, turning the book so they can see the illustration. It’s an accurate portrayal, so Prompto nods miserably and Ignis takes the book to quickly speed read over the page.

“Well,” he says with a grimace, “it’s not permanent. Regrettably, we didn’t bring along any remedies, so our best bet is to wait it out; shouldn't be more than a day or two.” Great, thinks Prompto, an entire day of silence – for him at least. He tries his best to shove down the panic edging in at the corners of his mind.

“Prompto,” says Ignis and he looks up again to find everyone’s gaze on him. He must have zoned out. “It’s alright if you’d rather not stay, we could always go camping another weekend.” 

Oh, they're asking if he wants to leave. He’s knows Ignis is fibbing to soften the blow though – getting all the necessary paperwork to grant Noctis leave from the city had been a hard enough battle once, but _twice?_ It could be a long while before they got the chance for another weekend like this and really, what would he do if they went back? Sit alone at home, unable to even talk to himself to fill the silence? He violently shakes his head.

“Well, okay then,” says Gladio, heading back up onto the flat stone of the haven. “What say we get a fire going for some smores?” With a quick, reassuring squeeze of Prompto’s hand, Noctis eagerly follows.

Already Prompto feels the space between him and the others growing, like an essential part of him has been severed and he’s left awkward and reeling in its absence to trail along after them. Words are the best tool in his arsenal, quick to use them to fix or defend, but now he's helpless to the way he's quickly unraveling. 

A hand settles on his shoulder, Ignis smiling warmly as he pulls him from his own head. “Come along. I’ll bet you know how to roast them best,” he says with a knowing gleam in his eye and the pressure in Prompto's chest eases.

As night falls, he tries his best to keep up with his regular antics. He’s still got the rest of him, still expressive enough in his motions and face to convey his thoughts, and though it’s a lot more challenging than simply saying what's on his mind, it’s comforting that the others' know him well enough to fill in the blanks. After he stuffs his mouth with several glorious, gooey creations, he wiggles into a camping chair with Noctis to show him all the pictures he took. He’s thankful when Noctis sticks to his usual passing commentary as they flip through, his soothing voice mixing with Ignis and Gladio's hushed conversation nearby and the rustle of wind through the leaves of the trees. 

It feels absurdly normal out here under the stars with the others and before long Prompto's trying not to nod off where he’s leaning against a dozing Noctis. They’re quickly ushered to bed, tucked in snuggly among the pile of blankets with promises of fishing and exploration the next day.

Prompto dreams he’s walking through the trees. The forest is quiet and damp, the canopy overhead dense enough that the sunlight filters a muted tone of green. The others are ahead, walking with purpose as the branches and trunks bend to let them pass. Prompto’s running to catch up. He’d stopped to take a picture of a gorgeous flower with petals the color of Noct’s eyes and fallen behind, but no matter how fast he goes he never catches up. He calls out, but to his horror, his voice is still gone. He can’t make a noise and none of them look back, so far ahead he can barely see them. The branches don’t bend for him, sticking out to tear at his clothes and face, and he trips, tumbling to the ground with a shout.

He shoots up, terrified of how dark it is and how much he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. For a while he sits, gasping quietly with a hand pressed hard over his heart. As the rhythmic thrumming of the blood singing in his veins calms he recognizes the tarp of the tent and the steady breathing of the others pressed in close around him. There’s a shuffle in the dark and a hand reaches out to find him. He shudders at the grounding touch and tries to speak, tears of frustration pressing at his eyes when he realizes he still can’t make a single noise. The ringing in his ears is louder now and he presses his hands over them, eyes squeezed tightly shut as a blanket's pulled firmly around his shoulders. A hand tilts his chin up and there’s Ignis, of course it’s Ignis, frowning deeply as he rubs along Prompto’s back comfortingly. He has yet to put his glasses on and Prompto focuses on his sharp eyes as he calms down.

"Alright?" he whispers, and when Prompto nods he reaches for his glasses and gestures his head towards the tent flap, avoiding the others’ legs as he steps outside. 

Fear curdles Prompto’s veins once more and he hurries out of the tent as carefully as he can, snatching at the back of Ignis’ shirt. Completely unbothered by the fingers twisting in his shirt, Ignis makes for the camping kitchen set as Prompto pads along behind him, stone warm beneath his bare feet. He goes through the motions, habitually boiling water in the kettle to steep some chamomile.

They end up settling down together at the edge of the haven to drink the tea. Overhead there are more stars mottled together in brilliant hues than Prompto’s ever seen before in his life and the stretch of the fresh air overtakes the tight feeling in his lungs. When he finishes his tea, he sets the cup aside and tucks a leg up onto the stone. Ignis is watching at him, forgotten mug cooling in his hands, and the moonlight sharpens his features - shadows defining his jawline and the curve of his brow as the shine reflects off his skin in an ethereal glow.

“I know-” he says, then pauses.

This is it then. Prompto reaches out to take Ignis’ free hand in both of his, relishing in the warmth of his touch and stroking over his fingers reassuringly. 

“I know it’s cowardly of me to do this now,” he continues. Frowning, Prompto opens his mouth to quickly deny the sentiment but snaps his jaw shut. To him Ignis is anything but a coward, but he needs to listen – it’s all he can do for now. Instead he squeezes Ignis’ hand in reassurance to keep going.

“I’m afraid I may have made a terrible misjudgment upon our second meeting. Gladio wasn’t lying, I was – eager for your call but when it never came I presumed your disinterest. And when you introduced yourself as if we’d never met I-” he trails off again and Prompto’s eyes go wide. He’s never heard Ignis so uncertain in his speech before. His own words press insistently at the back of his throat, but he swallows them down. “If that’s how… if you aren’t interested in being with me at all, that’s fine. I’ll happily continue as your friend, but I want to be certain, because, well, Prompto I'm afraid I've been enamored with you since the beginning.”

There’s something bright caught in Prompto’s lungs, fluttering and warm and so brilliant it drives away the lingering tendrils of his insecurities away. They'll be back, they always are, but for now he can’t restrain the smile spilling across his lips. Ignis stares hard at their joined hands. “Think about it. Please."

Prompto tugs at his hand excitedly, the sappiest fucking grin in all of Eos on his face, but Prompto can hardly bring himself to care as Ignis hesitantly returns it. He leans in, but Ignis stops him short, his wide eyes flickering back and forth and down to where his fingers press against Prompto’s lips.

“I want to do it right this time,” he says, even though he lingers. “A proper date, if you’ll have me.”

He’s barely got the words out before Prompto’s nodding his head rapidly in agreement. Never before has he hated his propensity for getting into trouble as much as he does right now, unable to reassure or proclaim or reciprocate fully, so instead, he leans in slowly to press a chaste kiss against Ignis’ cheek – a repayment for the night they met. But for now, it’s worth it, if only for the soft smile it earns him.

Yawning they stumble back into the tent, hands still clasped between them, and Ignis says nothing when he curls up a little closer to him than before. The air between them feels clear and hopeful for the future, and although the thoughts inside Prompto’s head are turbulent and criticizing, he drowns them out by mouthing the words he longs to say into Ignis’ shoulder as they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') they're making progress everyone. Let me know your thoughts?


	6. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They both stop, caught up frozen like a tableau in a confetti snow globe. There are pieces stuck in Prompto’s hair and Ignis reaches up to brush them aside before pausing to trace over his cheek reverently. His eyeliner is smudged, but it’s still dark and smokey against the vibrant blue of his eyes as he tilts his head into the touch. The music is still ringing out over them, the final notes of this recreated night they’re sharing together, and Ignis smiles, counts his blessings, and ducks down._
> 
> In which Prompto and Ignis go on their first date, come full circle, and do it right this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well everyone, this is technically the last chapter - tomorrow's is more of an epilogue. Big thank you to anyone who read this little impromptu fic of mine and again to those who left comments and kudos ;; I haven't been feeling very well the last few days, but I think writing this cured me a little. I hope you like it <3 Beware: full-steam ahead for complete sappiness.
> 
> Day Six: Dancing
> 
> Enjoy~

“What do you think?” asks Ignis and feeling strangely nervous as Prompto takes the slips of paper he’s holding out. As soon as he read the name, he jumps up with an excited shout, startling Ignis as his hand flies out to tug excitedly at his elbow.

“You actually got tickets!” he shouts, and Ignis can’t restrain his pleased grin. “This show’s been sold out for weeks.”

Of course, Ignis knows this already. The amount of searching and scrounging he’d done to find the tickets had taken a lot more time and pulled strings than he’d like to admit. He’s merely happy to be the one to put the smile on Prompto’s face after all the months they spent dancing around each other when they could have... Well, no matter. It’s in the past now and not one of his brightest moments. He’d just as soon as forget it if Gladio would stop sending him smug grins whenever they pass in the citadel halls. Prick.

But he had to admit, if it hadn’t been for Gladio’s endless persistent interrogation and encouragement, he may have never found the fortitude to search for the tickets in the first place. He wasn’t so oblivious as to not recognize something had happened between him and Prompto that day in the kitchen, but it was difficult to quiet the rational voice in his mind enough to _act_ on it. Despite his claims, Gladio’s a persistent meddler through and through, so it wasn't much of a surprise when he announced his grand camping excursion idea before looking Ignis square in the eyes, an obvious setup. It was easy to humor him, and though neither of them had accounted for Prompto to lose his voice, it had turned out just as well. And now they are safe in Insomnia once more, and finally able to laugh together about how completely stupid they’d been. Prompto has the sweetest laugh. Ignis still can’t believe his luck.

“You realize nothing will come above my duty to Noctis,” he'd said hesitantly while they’d talked it all over. If he were honest, this was the main reason he’d never sought to date more than the occasional fling in the first place. His answer would determine whether they'll continue on like this, and though Ignis harbors a deep appreciation for all Prompto does for Noctis, he still worried.

For nothing it seemed, because Prompto’s smile had never wavered. “‘Course I do,” he'd said with a shrug. “He’s my best friend, so I get it. At least on some level.” And that was that. Everything had settled neatly into place, with only one remaining loose end.

Getting ready for their date is nothing out of the ordinary from Ignis’ usual routine when he goes out, but still the nerves return. The anticipation has been building up under his skin all week, buzzing in an abnormal restlessness, and he’d spent the better part of the night before going through his entire closet before laying out the same purple shirt he’d worn the night they met. He slips into it now; doing up the buttons with care and leaving the last few undone before moving to work on his hair. It takes longer than usual; he hasn’t had a reason to style it up since the last concert, so it takes a lot of rearranging to make the strands bend under the gel just right. If nothing else, he’s got the timing down to a science, and he’s pulling on his gloves when someone knocks at the door.

When he opens it, Prompto is there, shifting nervously. He’s stunning; dark pants, dark shirt, with his hair styled up and eyes lined in charcoal. They widen when he sees Ignis, roses blooming bright and lovely on his cheeks. Ignis revels in the reaction and leans against the door with a smirk.

“Uh, hi?” says Prompto, word coming out unsure and high-pitched as his eyes flick over Ignis once again. 

Instead of answering, Ignis reaches for his keys, stepping out of the doorway and into Prompto’s space as he locks up. “Shall we?” he asks, taking up one of Prompto’s hands, pressing a tender kiss to the back of it.

The concert hall is packed. Black Sheep’s put out another album since the show in the hidden little bar under Insomnia and it’s become something of a hit. Even Noctis will hum a tune from it in his better moods while Ignis smiles discreetly at his paperwork. The tickets weren’t sold out for nothing, after all. It’s still cozier than an arena show but there’s enough space that it’s a little easier for them to weave through the crowd for a good place to stand. They had waited for the setup in-between the openers and the main act to make their move, hanging around out on the outskirts for the bands they hadn’t known.

“Good thing I have you now,” laughs Prompto as they go. “I guess it’s worth it to have a tall boyfriend to lead the way.”

Ignis falters at the word, but tries to cover it up. They’d talked about their misunderstanding, yes, but there hadn’t been any mention of labels. He rolls it around in his head and is happy to discover he likes the sound of it. Prompto’s eyeing him nervously, so he smiles and agrees, “Yes, good thing you have me now.”

Prompto’s responding grin dims the stage lights in comparison.

The band starts up and it’s a mirror of the first night all over again – Ignis pressed up along the line of Prompto’s back, gloved hands resting on his hips where the cut of his shirt is riding up a little. Ignis sings lowly in his ear and basks in the sweet laugh it garners him. The crowd is as energetic and lively as before, but this time it’s easier for them to go along with the flow – more focused on each other than the band, happy to float where they may, as long as it’s together. 

There are a few songs off the new album on the setlist now and the band pauses for the lead singer to switch out for an acoustic guitar. The energy in the room drops from the hyped release of aggression into something mellower as the lights come down and a few test chords ring out over them. Prompto hums along quietly as the singer breaks into the first verse. It’s naked and raw, soul-bearing, and the crowd rocks from side to side, phones and lighters alike pulled out to like the stars that shine above the haven outside the city.

It’s hard to not to get lost in the way the shadows play off Prompto's cheekbones and lashes as he brings an arm to circle around Ignis’ neck. He catches on quickly, taking up one of Prompto’s hands in his and keeping the other wrapped loosely around his waist. He wishes he’d forgone the gloves this time, if only to feel the warmth of Prompto’s skin against his as they sway gently along with the rest of the audience. It reminds him of why he’d always come to these shows in the first place – the unity of everyone brought together for their passionate commonality, an incomparable connection, thrumming on the same level of existence for a night. 

It’s different now, more intimate with someone who knows exactly how he feels standing pressed against him, an island in the middle of an ocean. Prompto ducks his head and leans against Ignis’ shoulder, breath ghosting along his neck. Shivering at the brush, Ignis hums along to the song, not as familiar with the words but no less impassioned. Inside his chest, his heart has taken on the form of a songbird, fluttering light and ardent against his ribs.

The song ties up to clapping and cheering and then the tempo kicks up, high-key fervor returning to the crowd. It’s more of a production this time, and as the last song launches into an extra repeat of the chorus, confetti is launched into the air, raining down around them in vibrant colors. Prompto laughs in delight, arms outstretched to catch a couple slips floating over them, grinning widely as he shows the crumpled papers to Ignis. 

They both stop, caught up frozen like a tableau in a confetti snow globe. There are pieces stuck in Prompto’s hair and Ignis reaches up to brush them aside before pausing to trace over his cheek reverently. His eyeliner is smudged, but it’s still dark and smokey against the vibrant blue of his eyes as he tilts his head into the touch. The music is still ringing out over them, the final notes of this recreated night they’re sharing together, and Ignis smiles, counts his blessings, and ducks down. Prompto meets him halfway, pressing into the curve of his body with his hands clenched tightly in the collar of Ignis’ shirt to pull him impossibly close. Ignis shuts his eyes; memorizes the feel of Prompto arching up into him, gasps hot on his cheeks as they kiss slowly again and again. It feels like drinking in from an oasis that has always been just out of reach; like desperation and relief wrapped in one. He pulls Prompto closer, tilts his head to the perfect angle and feels the noise he makes against his lips more than hears it over the crowd cheering for the end of the show. 

When they separate, it feels over far too fast and Ignis swoops back in to press more kisses against the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, under his eye, again and again until Prompto laughs and pushes him away. They stand there, panting and sweating, with strangers pressed up around them on all sides as the last of the confetti flutters to the ground. Prompto’s beautifully disheveled and he’s the last thing Ignis sees when the lights go down – and yeah, he thinks, he’s pretty damn lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you liked it <3 two words will make my day!


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To be fair, Prompto didn’t mean for things to escalate that far. This was_ supposed _to be a nice outing in honor of their six month anniversary. He’d been so ready to celebrate, eager to enjoy the show before seeing Ignis home with a bottle of champagne to split between them, but when a man had swiped at Ignis’ ass with little more than a derogatory comment, all he could see was red._
> 
> In which we reach the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it has been an honor. I never imagined when I started this fic on a whim the day of that it'd sprawl into this decently sized rollercoaster. Thank you so much for your support, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it <3 Big thank you to [prrrrmm](http://prrrrmm.tumblr.com) for encouraging me through this whole week. As a warning, this chapter has minor injuries, proceed with caution. And now, the epilogue.
> 
> Day Seven: A moment when Ignis saw Prompto’s true ~~inner~~ outer strength come through
> 
> Enjoy~

“Ouch! That hurts!” whines Prompto, flinching at the sting.

“And whose fault is it?” asks Ignis dryly, pausing to grab a new cotton ball from the first aid kit sitting on the counter. Prompto sticks out his bottom lip, wincing as it pulls at the split. Adrenaline is still pounding through his veins but he does his best to hold as still as he can when Ignis returns to dab at a cut on the rise of his cheek.

“Okay, I deserve that,” says Prompto, “but I’m not sorry.” 

His nose has stopped bleeding, but he can still feel it dried to his skin and he’s relieved he’d chosen to wear a solid black shirt. When Ignis tilts his head to see better under the limited lighting of the bathroom, he leans into the touch. It’s a tight fit, even with Prompto up on the counter and Ignis’ hips nestled between his thighs, but the sting of peroxide is enough to keep his thoughts from wandering to how close they’re pressed against each other. “He was out of line to say those things to you.”

Ignis doesn’t answer, but there’s the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth meaning he’s pleased, despite his frown when his fingers skirt Prompto’s throbbing eye. When he grabs the bandage off the sink, Prompto pulls him closer with his legs to press a smattering of kisses along the tantalizing stretch of his throat. “C’mon Iggy, don’t be mad,” he says lowly and smirks against Ignis' skin when he feels him shiver. "Bet you liked me defending your honor like that."

To be fair, Prompto didn’t mean for things to escalate. This was _supposed_ to be a nice outing in honor of their six month anniversary. He’d been so ready to celebrate, eager to enjoy the show before seeing Ignis home with a bottle of champagne to split between them, but when a man had swiped at Ignis’ ass with little more than a derogatory comment, all he could see was red. As nature of the scene, Prompto’s been in a few scraps before, but he makes it a point to never throw the first punch out of courtesy; that just isn’t his style. But he’d had no problem raising his voice, antagonizing and taunting, until the man did the honors before ducking out of reach of the expected hit and swinging right back in for his vengeance. It’s was fast and dirty and over before he knew it, heart pounding wildly when the employees from the club wasted no time splitting them up. Despite how short it was, he’d gotten his point across and the other patron was a mess as they escorted him from the bar. Unfortunately the guy had gotten in a few lucky shots of his own and they'd been kindly lead to the back to clean up.

Prompto reaches out to wrap his hands around Ignis’ waist but he’s intercepted by Ignis taking his wrist instead. “Whatever the case may be, it was still incredibly reckless of you,” he says, chastising as he gently cradles Prompto’s bruised and bloodied knuckles to wrap them with care, apologizing when he pulls a bit too tightly and draws out another wince. “I can handle myself,” he adds lowly.

“’Course you can,” says Prompto, still smiling in spite of the throbbing in his lip. “That’s part of what I love about you.” 

Ignis stops abruptly, breath hitching, and Prompto freezes. He'd gotten distracted, watching Ignis care for him with such diligent focus, gritty lighting playing off the rise of his refined cheekbones and elegant lips, and it slipped out before he knew it. The fear that he's finally crossed a line too far spikes, but Ignis merely returns to methodically wrapping in-between his fingers and he relaxes ever so slightly.

When he’s finished, Ignis tucks the end of the bandage in securely before moving to pack up the kit. He hasn’t left his spot pressed up against him, so Prompto takes it as a good sign and risks brings up his hands to rest on Ignis’ hips like he’d wanted to do before. It’s quiet, music muffled outside their small cocoon, bass pulsing through the air around them and making his hair stand on end. Satisfied, Ignis places his hands flat on the limited counter space, one on either side of Prompto, and leans down close. Electricity crackles between them as they stare, Prompto dropping his gaze briefly to Ignis’ lips and back up to his sharp eyes. He seems to be searching for something - but whatever it is he must find it, because he smiles bright and brilliant and Prompto pulls him in for a kiss.

It hurts, and he’s afraid he’s split his lip again, but he could hardly care less as their mouths mold to each other like two halves of the same piece. His hand comes up to twist in Ignis’ shirt, tugging him closer, and Ignis responds in turn, moving to cradle Prompto’s face in both of his. It stays slow, reverent and deep, and Prompto pours every bit of the warmth steadily expanding in his chest into it to say all the things he's too afraid to voice aloud. When they part, they stay close, exchanging gentle presses of their mouths as they stare, eyes hazy and lidded. He feels weak from the force of how much he _wants_ , and as his eyes flick back and forth between Ignis’ beautiful spring gaze, he sees it reflected there.

“For the record, I do as well,” says Ignis breathlessly, and Prompto feels the words take shape against his lips, “Love you, that is.” And when Prompto drags him back in, their smiles meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! If you enjoyed this story in any way please feel free to let me know down below <3 I have a couple other stories out right now and a lot planned for the new year, so stay tuned!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


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